by Nora Roberts
“I thought it was poker night.”
“It is. I’m heading over to Del’s later.”
He hadn’t shaved, she noted, and there were tears and grease stains on his jeans. She supposed the dress code for poker was very, very casual.
“Do you want a drink?”
“No, I’m good.”
He worked in relative silence while she poured herself some wine. Just a muttered curse, a hum of satisfaction now and then. His foot tapped as if to some inner tune, and his hair fell in a dark, disordered mass that made her fingers itch to get into it.
Maybe she was a little in love with him, but that was as harmless as infatuation.Wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if she was planning the rest of her life around him, or with him.
God, why couldn’t she just relax and keep it simple?
“How’s that coming for you, Malcolm?” Mrs. Grady walked back in, winked at Parker.
“I think I’ve got it.”
“Well, once you’ve got that thing back together, you wash up. You can have some cookies and milk.”
He glanced back at her, grinned. “Okay.”
“It’s nice having a handyman around the house.We’ve been a household of women for some time now. Not that we don’t muddle through, but the next time one of the washers gives me grief, I know who to call.”
“
One of the washers?”
“We’ve a utility room with a set on every floor.”
“Convenient.” He cocked a brow at Parker. “And efficient.”
“It is that. I’m going out with some of the girls tonight. I’ll see to your pizza before I leave,” she said to Parker.
“We can just throw something together,” Parker began. “Just go have fun.”
“I plan to, but I can do both. I’ll be seeing your mother tonight, Mal.”
“Yeah? She’s going?”
“A bite to eat, plenty of gossip.Then who knows what trouble we’ll get into.”
“I’ll make your bail.”
Mrs. Grady laughed in delight.“I’ll hold you to it.” Lips pursed she walked to the table. “Look how you’ve shined up those innards.”
“Needed some adjusting, some cleaning, and the indispensable WD-40. How many of these do you have?”
“Only one like that. It’s an old one, but it’s handy for my rooms. Otherwise Parker’s brought in a fleet of new, spiffy ones so I don’t have to haul a machine up and down the steps if I want to do the floors between cleaning crews. Oh, I ran into Margie Winston. She told me you breathed new life into that rattletrap she drives.”
“That old girl’s got a hundred and eighty-five thousand miles on her.The Pontiac, not Mrs.Winston.”
Parker listened to them talk, easy conversation, as he put the machine back together. That was another point in his favor, she mused, the easy conversation, the way he knew and obviously interacted with his client base.
And the way, when he plugged in the vacuum, tested the suction, he grinned. “She sucks.”
“Would you look at that! And it doesn’t sound likes it’s grinding metal while it’s at it.”
“She should be good for a few more miles.”
“Thank you, Malcolm. You’ve earned the milk and cookies. Just let me put this away.”
“I’ll do it.” He crouched to wrap the cord. “Where do you want it?”
“Just in the utility room there, first closet on the left.”
Mrs. Grady shook her head as he carried the vacuum out. “If I were thirty years younger, I wouldn’t let that one slip away. Hell, I’d settle for twenty and try my hand at being a cougar.”
Parker nearly choked on her wine. “I didn’t hear that.”
“I can say it louder.”
Shaking her head, Parker caught her breath. “You’re smitten.” “Something’s wrong with you if you’re not.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Mrs. Grady said as she started putting tools back in the trim silver toolbox.
“I’ll get those.You promised your sweetheart cookies and milk.”
“I’ll see to that, then, and top off your wine. You keep him company awhile.”
She set out a plate piled with cookies, a tall, cold glass of milk while Malcolm came back to wash his hands.“Drink that milk, and I’ll tell your mother you’ve been a good boy.”
“She won’t believe you.”
After Parker stowed the toolbox, she found him alone in the kitchen.
“She said she had some things to do, and you’re supposed to keep me company. So what does the Quartet do after pizza when the guys are away?”
She sat across from him, took a sip of wine. “Oh, we have slow-motion pillow fights in our underwear.”
“Another fantasy come true.Want a cookie?”
“Definitely not,” she said, thinking of the petit fours.
“You’re missing out.We’ve been here before.”
She smiled. “Yes. But this time I’m not annoyed with you.Yet. Are you feeling lucky? Poker,” she said in mock scold when his grin flashed.
“Feeling lucky can make you sloppy. It’s better to be lucky.”
“All right. Here’s to being lucky.” She tapped her glass to his.
“While you have homemade pizza and sexy pillow fights.What’s a guy have to do to get invited to one of those events?”
“Not be a guy would be requirement one.Though we can arrange for the homemade pizza at some point.”
“I could settle. Listen, speaking of invites, my mother wants you to come to dinner Sunday.”
She’d lifted her glass halfway to her mouth, and now set it down again. “Dinner at your mother’s. Sunday? This Sunday?” It was odd to feel the tickle of panic, however slight, in her throat. “Oh, but we have an event, and—”
“She’ll work around it. I told her you had a work deal, but she knows it’s a day thing.” He shifted a bit, studied his cookie.“I think she and Mrs. Grady have started talking a lot, or hanging out or something.”
“Hmm,” Parker said, watching him.
“Anyway, Ma’s dug in on it. I think she’s got the idea that I . . . I’ve been spending a lot of time here, scrounging meals, and she should, you know, reciprocate.”
“Uh-huh.” Not what you were going to say, she reflected. And if she had felt a little tickle, she’d have to say Malcolm felt a deep scraping.
Wasn’t that interesting?
“So, she’s dug in, and believe me, there’s no budging her. I can tell her you can’t make it, but she’ll just keep at it until you do.”
Not just panicked, she decided. Considerably worried. He’d been maneuvered into bringing a woman home to his mother’s for dinner. And she had a feeling he hadn’t quite figured out how that worked.
“I’d love to come to dinner on Sunday.”
His gaze zinged back to hers—wary. “You would?”
“Sure.We should have everything wrapped here by five thirty. If there’s no holdup, I could be there by around six. I’ll just drive over when I’m done here, and call if I’m going to be any later than six.Will that work?”
“Yeah. Sure.That’ll work.”
The more discomfort she sensed in him, the more enthusiastic she became. It was, she admitted, small of her, but what the hell. “Ask her if I can bring dessert, or maybe a bottle of wine. Or, never mind, I’ll just call her.”
“You’ll call my mother.”
She smiled, eyes wide and calm. “Is that a problem?”
“No. That’s fine.You two figure it out.” He waved it off. “It takes me out of the middle.”
“I’ll get in touch with her.” She lifted her wine again, at ease now. “Is she seeing anyone?”
“What?” Pure, undiluted shock swept over his face. “My mother? No. Jesus.”
She didn’t manage to swallow the laugh, but softened it by reaching out, laying a hand over his.“She’s a vital, interesting woman.”
“Don’t go t
here. Seriously.”
“I only did because I wondered if she might have a friend there, or if it would just be the three of us.”
“Us.Three.That’s it.”
“That’ll be nice.”
“Okay. Okay, I’ve got to get going.”
“Have fun tonight.” She rose as he did.
“Yeah, you, too.”
“And be lucky.” She moved into him. “Maybe this’ll help.”
And kept moving, slowly, deliberately, until her body molded to his, until her arms twined like ropes around his neck. Until her lips brushed, retreated, brushed, then sank soft and warm against his.
She let a sound of pleasure—escape, seduction, surrender, a shimmer of promises to come. And felt her body yearn with that promise when his hand gripped a fistful of her shirt at the small of her back.
He forgot, nearly forgot, where he was. Forgot, nearly forgot, everything but Parker. Her scent, that subtle, unforgettable hint of fragrance that was woman and secrets and cool breezes all at once. It stirred him, tangled in his senses with the hot, velvet punch of the kiss, swamped him with a staggering flood of need against the firm, lithe lines of her body.
Then she sighed again, skimmed her fingers through his hair, and started to ease away.
“No.”
He yanked her back and took them both on a dangerous fall.
“Malcolm.” She’d opened the cage door, and now however much she wanted to fling it yet wider, she knew she needed to gentle them both. “We can’t.”
“Wanna bet?” He pulled her across the kitchen, his strides long and fast enough to have her scrambling to keep up.
“Wait.Where are you going?”
Her breath stuck somewhere between her lungs and her throat when he dragged her into the utility room, shoved her back to the door. Flipped the lock.
“We’re not going to—”
He smothered her protest with a ravenous kiss while his hands began to take and take.
He forced himself to flip open the buttons of her shirt rather than simply tear it off her, then tugged the cups of her bra down to rub calloused palms over her nipples.
She moaned. She trembled.
“God. Malcolm.Wait.”
“No.” He yanked up her skirt, then slid that calloused palm between her legs. “I’m going to have you here, right here. I’m going to watch you come first.” He skimmed a finger under lace, into her. “Then I’m going to make you come again, and again, taking you right here, against this door, until I’m finished.”
She had to grip his shoulders or fall as her knees trembled, as they buckled. As the vicious, battering heat assaulted her. His eyes, wildly green, captured hers, and she saw something flash in them—triumph, no less than triumph—when her body erupted.
She heard the swatch of lace rip, and could only moan again.
“Tell me you want me.” He had to hear it. Had to hear her voice, throaty with passion, tell him she was as crazed as he. “Tell me you want this. For me to take you like this.”
“Yes. God.Yes.”
He gripped her thigh as she lifted her leg to hook around his waist. Opening, offering. His mouth muffled her cry of release when he thrust into her. Hard and deep.
She let him ravage her—no other word came close—and she thrilled to it, rushed with him, beat by mad beat, to the final, breathless fall.
Even then she shuddered. Even when her head dropped to his shoulder, when his hand stroked down her hair, she couldn’t quite find her breath. When he tipped her face up, cupping it in his hands as his lips moved gently, gently over her cheeks, her temples, she thought: Who are you? Who are you that you can do this to me, take my body, take my heart?
Then she opened dazed eyes, stared into his, and she knew. Not all, maybe not enough, but she knew she loved.
When she smiled, he smiled. “You started it.”
She would’ve laughed if she’d had enough breath. “That’ll teach me.”
He dropped his forehead to hers, began to button her shirt. “You got a little wrinkled.”
He smoothed her skirt, her hair, tilted her head. “It’s no good. You look like a woman who just had sex in the utility room.”
“I guess I earned it.”
“I’ll say.” He bent down. “And I earned these. I’m keeping them.”
Her mouth dropped open when he pushed her torn panties into his pocket. “Like a trophy?”
“Spoils of war.”
She sputtered out a laugh, then just shook her head. “I don’t suppose you have a comb?”
“Why would I have a comb?”
She sighed, tried a little more smoothing and brushing with her hands.“That’ll just have to do.” She laid her finger on her lips, got that quick, cocky grin in response. “I mean it,” she hissed.
As quietly as possible, she unlocked the door, opened it a crack. Listened. “You’re going straight out, through the kitchen, out the door. And I’m—”
He grabbed her, giving her ribs a tickle as he pressed his mouth to hers. “Stop! Malcolm!”
“Just wanted to muss you up again.” He took her hand, pulled her out.
Relieved to find the kitchen empty, she nudged, pushed, shoved him at the door.
“I feel so used,” he said, and made her laugh even as she gave him a last push.
“Go play poker. Be lucky.”
“Got my lucky charm right here.” He patted the pocket holding her panties.
When her mouth dropped open again, his laughter rolled through the damp autumn air. “See you, Legs.”
She made a dash for her room, then couldn’t resist detouring to the window, looking out. She saw him change direction, walk to Mac’s to speak with a man—a boy?—who’d just come out.
They talked for a moment, exchanged fist bumps. Then the boy climbed into a compact, gunned the engine, and drove off as Malcolm backtracked to his truck.
She jolted when she heard the step behind her, and turned to see Mrs. Grady. “Oh.” And mortified to feel heat rise to her cheeks, Parker cleared her throat.
“Hmm,” was all the housekeeper said.“You certainly kept him company.”
“Ha. Well . . . Um, do you know who that boy was, over at Mac’s? Malcolm seemed to know him.”
“Well, he should as the boy works for Malcolm. Can’t read,” she added, “or only enough to skim by. Mal asked Carter to tutor the boy.”
“I see.” She stood there, looking out through the thin rain. Just when she thought she had a grip on the man, she found yet another angle, another layer.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“IN THE UTILITY ROOM.” IN HER PAJAMAS, SPRAWLED ON THE SOFA OF the family room, Mac stared up at the ceiling.“Parker Brown of the Connecticut Browns doing the wild thing in the utility room.”
“We were animals.”
“Now she’s bragging,” Laurel commented and bit into a slice of pizza.
“And I like it.”
“Let me say congratulations, but really, I’m just in love with him taking you to his mom’s for dinner.” Emma topped off wine-glasses. “And being so obviously weirded out by it.”
“It should be interesting.”
“What I want to know is, can he fix small appliances? One of my stand mixers is acting hinky.”
Parker glanced at Laurel. “Ask him. He seems to like fixing things. Which brings me to him asking Carter to tutor that boy. When did that start?”
“Last month,” Mac told her. “Carter says Glen’s really coming along. He’s got him reading Carrie.”
Emma swallowed hard. “You mean pig-blood-at-the-prom Carrie?”
“Carter found out Glen likes horror flicks, and he’s seen the movie a bunch of times, so Carter thought he’d like reading the book. And it’s working.”
“That’s smart,” Parker commented.“A really good way to show someone how to read for fun, that it’s not just work, not just studying or a chore, but fun.”
“Yeah. Carter . . . he’s just good
, you know?” Mac’s face went soft with a smile. “So patient and insightful and innately kind without being sticky about it. I think some people, like him, are lucky to end up doing what they were born to do. And the rest of us benefit from that.”
“Like us. I really believe we’re doing what we were born to do,” Emma added. “That’s what makes it more than a business—like teaching is more than a job to Carter.We make a lot of people happy, but one of the reasons—beyond, ‘hey we’re just that good’—is because what we’re doing makes us happy.”
“Here’s to us.” Laurel lifted her glass. “Happy, hot, sexually satisfied, and just that damn good.”
“I’ll drink a whole lot to that,” Mac said.
Parker acknowledged the toast, started to drink.And her phone rang. “Oh well, I’ll just step out and be happy. Be right back.”
“Okay,” Mac said the minute Parker was out of the room. “What do we think?”
“I think their chemistry is off the charts,” Laurel answered. “And that they’ve each got an emotional hook deep in the other. A man with Mal’s kind of edge and ’tude doesn’t fumble his way through a dinner at his mother’s unless it matters.”
“Because when Mom’s important—and Mal’s is to him—it’s a step. It takes it up a level.” Mac nodded.“If he didn’t want it to go up a level, he’d have found a way to back his mother off.”
“It’s sweet it makes him nervous,” Emma added, “because yes, it matters. Both these women matter. You know, my sense is he faces things head-on.The way he told Del straight off he was interested in Parker.The way he brought up the money-status deal to Parker when they first got physical. It’s lay it out there and deal. Kind of his default. So I don’t think much makes him nervous.”
“What I see?” Mac contemplated another slice of pizza. “I see two strong, confident, I-can-fix-it personalities not only trying to figure out the vulnerabilities of being in love, but the risks and the potential outcomes. Basically? I think they’re perfect for each other.”
“Yes! So do I.” Emma glanced toward the doorway. “But it’s not the time to tell her that. She’s not there yet.”
“Neither’s he,” Laurel commented. “I wonder which one of them will get there first.”
